


push the curve to sit between your thighs

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Childhood Memories, Dirty Talk, Group Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Episode: s04e01, Prostitution, Reminiscing, Reunions, Rough Sex, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts (Minor)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 05:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14325972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: When Nathan lost all his dignity for good, it wasn’t a spectacle.





	1. he takes your face, and positions it to take your mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Titles taken from Your Joy Is My Low by IAMX. Not Beta read, as per usual.

When Nathan lost all his dignity for good, it wasn’t a spectacle.

It was a swift, quiet drop into the kind of desperation he’d never before considered might apply to him. Worst of all, the transition was disturbingly easy to make... But, then again, Nathan supposed that turning from police work to prostitution was a much more palatable option when a group of highly-trained ragtag psychopaths were after you with the express intention of grinding your face into the pavement. The guard would kill him if they had their way, no doubt about it.

It started one night when he walked into the wrong bar on the wrong dusty back road. The second he crossed the creaking, wooden threshold all eyes were on him, and he knew he’d made a mistake. He was surrounded by bikers. Leather, insignias, greasy hair, unwashed hands, rough skin, and cold resolve. They let him in, let him rent a room out back for a few days, but he was on edge immediately. He knew what he looked like, knew the awkward authority that clung to his every action like an old habit.

He ordered a burger, ate the greasy mess of bread and meat over in a dark corner where people generally left him alone. The beer was cold, at least. He hungered for his old life, for everything he’d lost and the people he’d probably never see again. He still remembered the look in Duke’s eyes, level and calm, fixed on him. He still remembered the finality of the moment when the barn disappeared, with Duke and Audrey still inside.

_My fault._

The alcohol flowed down his throat, fast and dangerous. He didn’t care. He needed to forget.

By the time he staggered out back to his room, the bar had pretty much emptied. There was a crooked, rusted number 3 on his door, hanging at a precarious angle, the screw coming loose. Bleary and drunk, he tried to jam the key inside the lock, unable to rely on touch to guide his numb fingers. He gazed at the number as he paused, trying to steady himself. He figured there were only a few metal threads keeping the screw in place, keeping the whole thing from slipping out of the fraying wood.

He went inside. The room was as spartan as could be, though a shallow attempt had been made to slap some life into the grey space. The curtains had a flower pattern vomited over them, sun-bleached and stained in places. A rug had been thrown over the cracked concrete floor. The ceiling was bulging with moisture damage and peeling in places. When Nathan swung the door slowly closed behind him, with the creaking finality of a tomb, a murky darkness fell over everything like a swathe of paint. He moved through the space as if he were a possessed man, or a ghost. He imagined he could feel the air against his skin. He imagined he could be present in this moment, just like everyone else. But the alcohol had made him warm and distant, consciousness marooned a place very far away, and his body was a stranger to him. He could see well enough to find his way to the bed, which was one miracle that he could at least appreciate, given feeling his way through the dark wasn’t an option. Fully-dressed, he fell face-down into an immediate, and dreamless, sleep.

Had Nathan been able to feel at all, he’d have realised that the room was as cold as a fucking freezer.

 

***

 

As it turned out, he didn’t look as much like a cop as he’d assumed.

The next morning when he groggily awoke, he realised where he’d ended up and felt an initial stab of panic before he realised that he had nothing to live for anyway. If he was going to be killed in a biker bar then, well, he was going to be killed in a biker bar. The surrender of losing everything had left him free in a way he’d never been before. It wasn’t a good thing, nor was it a bad thing. He was so empty that quantifying any kind of loss was a bit like telling a blind man to take a fucking Ishihara Colour Test.

He looked up at the ceiling. Thought of Audrey, and then thought of Duke. There’d been one afternoon when they’d sat outside on sun-toughened grass, pulling at flowers, the world around them turned bright by the endlessness of summer. They’d been about eleven years old, Nathan remembered. Duke had been thin, then. Too thin. Slender as a bird, tiny arms and bony shoulders, shirt hanging off his malnourished frame. Nathan had been worried about an upcoming math test, and Duke had sat there tonguing an old bruise on the corner of his mouth.

He closed his eyes, tried to remember what the gusts of hot wind had felt like. Tried to recall their laughter, the bump and collision as they wrestled on the ground, just two boys with their whole lives ahead of them. But Duke was gone now, and the sweet memory was overtaken by a burst of white light as he recalled the explosion that had sucked Duke into the void– or wherever that damn barn had gone when it disappeared right before Nathan’s eyes.

_My fault._

_My fault._

_My fucking fault._

 

***

 

He ate breakfast that morning with the morose listlessness of someone genuinely considering the worthiness of their future. Scrambled eggs, lukewarm and wet with watery excess. Cold toast, limp and soft. Coffee, bitter and far too strong, just enough of a slap in the face to be exactly what he needed to think this through logically. He wasn’t sure how he’d end his life, or if he even had the energy. He figured he should stay alive in case circumstances changed; in case Duke or Audrey somehow came back to life by way of a miracle, or just due to Haven’s standard fuckery. He’d been around long enough to know that the rules didn’t apply to people like them, which meant he was probably obligated to stick around. Still, though. It wasn’t like he was afraid of suicide; most people were deterred by the pain, but not him.

He decided to commit to staying alive. Trudging apathetically onwards would have to do until he found something else to live for. But that meant he needed money, which was a definite issue.

It was at that moment he turned his head and spied the man sitting across the bar’s dining area. He had dark hair twisted into a viking-like plait, hanging down between his shoulder blades, ears clustered with silver piercings. Even seated it was obvious that he was a big man, because his bulk barely fit onto the chair where he was slouched, and his upper body snugly filled out the black t-shirt that he wore. He was muscular, but not superficially; not like men who squeezed themselves into air-conditioned gyms to pump iron like it was some sort of replacement for knowing how to throw a punch. His leather jacket was hanging over the back of his chair like a silent threat, and he was staring right at Nathan. But there wasn’t any hate in his eyes. No, his gaze was pure intent, burning a line down Nathan’s body, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Nathan stared back, his breakfast forgotten.

“You're new around here, huh,” the guy observed, his tone more than friendly.

“…Yeah.” Nathan replied, a resounding click settling in his mind as he realised his mistake. He’d assumed that he’d look like a cop, but he didn’t. He looked like a desperate man. A man who needed money, who didn’t belong here. It’d been a long time since he’d been involved in any gay scene, having grown up in a secluded small town and all, but he knew what men found attractive about him. And he knew that hooking paid well if you did it right, which he figured wouldn’t be a problem because he didn’t really need money if he could have a roof over his head in return for servicing bar patrons. He glanced at the bartender, an older woman with lines around her mouth and a knowing look in her eye. She nodded, and he decided they’d work out the details later.

_Fuck it._

He rose up out of his seat. The man watched him, but didn’t move. Nathan crossed the room, took a seat opposite the stranger, tugging the sleeves of his sweater over his knuckles as if he was bashful, because his time dealing with criminals had taught him that innocence was a turn-on for most johns. He looked down at the table, grinned a little. It was all an act, but oh well.

In for a penny, in for a pounding.

 

***

 

In no time at all he was on his knees, the door of his hotel room closed behind him. The guy stood, weight on one leg, hips slanted to the side as he produced a condom from his pocket. The silence between them seemed to excite him, and the movements of his hands were hasty, but Nathan just felt awkward. He looked down at the floor, wondered if he shouldn’t feel more conflicted about what he was doing. He tried not to theorise about what his father would have thought.

“Hey.”

The word was softly spoken. A hand reached beneath his chin, fingers easing his face upwards. Nathan looked up at his first client, blinking slowly.

“You okay?”

Nathan smiled disdainfully. “Do you get off on being patronising?”

The guy smirked. He undid his fly, apparently done with politeness, and started to slide the white condom onto his cock. Nathan’s breath hastened. He thought about how long it’d been since he’d done this, and what he’d liked about it last time.

“Well, if that’s how you wanna play it, then fine. I won’t be nice. Open your mouth.”

Nathan did, slowly. The man cursed, reaching a hand out to grab at his hair, pulling his face forward with enough force that it probably would’ve hurt under other circumstances. Nathan closed his eyes, revelled in the lack of sensation, the knowledge that this was being done to him even though he couldn’t feel it. It did turn him on, as conceptual as the sensation of arousal was for him. He remembered now why he’d enjoyed fucking with men so much, when he’d eventually had the courage to be experimental in a place like Haven. He resolved not to think of Duke, not to wonder what life would’ve been like if they’d done something other than fight on that fateful night onboard Duke’s boat.

He arched his hips forward like it would make a difference, like he could grind against the taut denim of his jeans and seek some relief.

“Fuck,” the man sighed, “ _Fuck_ , you’re so…”

Nathan took that as encouragement. He ducked his head forward, breathing calmly through his nose, making sure to keep his jaw wide open as he couldn’t really ensure his teeth wouldn’t get in the way otherwise. He was hungover and tired, but this wasn’t so bad. It wouldn’t be hard to make a living this way, especially given that when his eyes were closed he may as well have been anywhere else because he couldn’t feel anything.

He put on a show, let himself be manhandled and pushed around, let himself appear helpless and wanton. He moaned like he was struggling, choked like the cock down his throat was too big to take, tugged pitifully on the man’s jeans like he wanted the pace to slow. A long time ago, he’d loved this. Visualising the act as it occurred, imagining what he looked like, the slapping of skin and moisture testament to what was being done to him.

All too soon, the man's movements came to an abrupt end, quicker than Nathan had predicted would be the case.

“Fuck yeah, fuck _fuck_ -“

Apparently he hadn’t lost his touch. Tired and depressed as he was, it was something of a compliment to know he could still make a man come in record time. He swallowed convulsively as if gasping for air, throat clicking. The man released his hair with an amazed laugh. Nathan coughed, bowing his head, lips wet with saliva.

“Damn,” the guy breathed, “got a mouth on you sweeter than any woman’s.”

He walked off to deposit the condom in Nathan’s bin, tucking himself back in as he went. The gravity of what they’d just done didn’t hit Nathan until he was rising to his feet, being handed a fistful of notes.

“Better be off. Work to do, you know how it is.” The man considered him briefly as he put his wallet back in his pocket, and then smiled with enough honesty in his expression that Nathan was caught off-guard. “How about a kiss, huh?”

Nathan swallowed tightly. He pocketed the money and shook his head.

“No. I don’t do that.”

_I don’t do that._

_Christ, I’m a fucking whore._

He reminded himself that he needed the money, that he didn’t care, that everyone he loved was gone and that his defective body might as well be good for something. The man shrugged, appearing only a little disappointed.

“Whatever, man. See you around.”

Nathan nodded, stepping out of the way to let him leave. He stared at the closed hotel door for a long time.

 

 


	2. want yourself to stop

That night, after Nathan took a shower, there was a knock on his door. He answered with his hair still dripping, skin still moistened and warm, wearing only a pair of loose jeans. There was a new man at the door, with a hard face and hooded blue eyes.

"Lady at the bar tells me you're willin' to relieve a man, long as he pays."

"Seventy for my mouth," Nathan told him quietly, hardly able to believe how naturally this came to him, "and you need to wrap up. Payment upfront."

The man smiled. "You got a pretty mouth, kid, but I ain't interested in it. How much to fuck you?"

Nathan felt pulse of fear, but he swallowed it down. "...A hundred and twenty."

"Fuck that. Eighty, tops."

Nathan rested a hip against the edge of the door, pushed it slightly more ajar. He watched the man's eyes trail down his body just like the other biker's had, moving past his flat abdomen to settle on the waistband of his jeans. He was fit, he knew that, and most hookers weren't. Besides, this guy was obviously looking to get his fix, and Nathan was willing to bet that he wouldn't be able to find anybody else nearby at this time of night. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't nervous about this. It was a lie, but pretending helped a little. He reached up to drag hair out of his face, slick it back. Posing.

"A hundred and twenty," he repeated, words murmured now, "take it or leave it."

 

 


End file.
